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Class Jz. 
Book_ 



BEQUEST OF 
ALBERT ADSIT CLEMONS 
(Not available for exchange) 






The Buntling Ball 



A GR^ECO-AMERICAN PLAY 



A. Social Satire 



C^Lcfr&S^ ^dUAfX 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY C. D. WELDON 




66-H 6 



FUNK & WAGNALLS 

NEW YORK 1885 LONDON 

IO AND 12 DEY STREET 44 FLEET STREET 

A 11 Rights Reserved. 






Entered, according: to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by 

FUNK & WAGNALLS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C„ 

Bequest 

Albert Adsit Clemons 

Aug. 24, 1938 

(Not available for exchange} 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 



Chorus of 



Alonzo Buntling. 

Anastasia Buntling. 

Jane Buntling. 

Leander Briggs. 

Florimel Filigree. 

The Butler. 

Two Guests. 

A Reporter. 

Knickerbocker Young Men. 

Maneuvering Mammas. 

Social Strugglers. 

Belles. 

Wall-Flowers. 

Gossips. 

Anglomaniacs. 

Gluttons. 



Ovdev yap avQpoo7ioi6iv oiov apyvpoZ 
kochov yojuWjj, i'fiXaffre. rovro Hal noXsii 
TtopQe.1, rod avdpa? eB,aviarr}aiv dop.ojy 
rod endidaffHSi Hal TtapaXka66£i cppevai 
XprjffraS npos aiaxpot TtpaypaQ i'ffraadai 

fSpordov 
navovpyiai d sdsigsv avdpoo7toi? i'x Slv ? 
xai itavroi i'pyov dvGffefisiav eidsvai. 

Sophocles, Ant., 295-301. 



"m 




Mrs. Buntling. 

Anastasia Buntling, faithful 
spouse 
Of stout Alonzo, potentate 
in Pork, 
Westward return with lord and loving child 
Across Atlantic's many-sounding deep, 
Borne safe between the stanch Cunarder's ribs, 
Wave-furrowing, tempest-baffling, huge of bulk. 



6 THE BUNTLWG BALL. 

Long was our stay in European lands, 

And frequent were the marvels that we met. 

Whereof in ample text, with patient skill, 

Already the wise Baedeker hath told : 

Art-galleries, damp cathedrals, bad hotels. 

Innumerable ruins, mountains vast, 

Dishonest couriers and vivacious fleas. 

Things of great price we purchased as we roamed, 

Wrought by men famed with chisel or with brush — 

Rare statues, pictures, bronzes, good to range 

In sumptuous chambers when transpontine shores 

Would claim us ; but for me, my chief delight 

Was gathering varied garments, fold on fold 

Of beauteous texture, frilled and furbelowed 

In many a fantasy of sweet device ; 

The last fair whims of fashion's dainty mood, 

Expensive, hateful to my husband's purse. 

Nor "me alone this fond pursuit engrossed, 

But also her, my daughter, still a maid, 

White-handed, marriageable, golden-tressed. 

So Jane and I together have brought home 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

A precious quantity of splendid gear, 

Impervious to Alonzo's noisy wrath, 

Impervious to the tariffs tyrant fee, 

Impervious to the envy of sly foes, 

Impervious to all else but our own aims 

Of self-adornment and superior style. 

For she is pitiably low of soul 

Who values not the holy claims of dress, 

Nor worships at her mirror's polished shrine 

In attitudes of sacerdotal awe. 

I hold that woman most delectable 

Who walks in paths beloved of her modiste, 

Nor sins by wanton scorn of stay or flounce, 

The proper trail of skirt, fit set of sleeve. 

Nay, she alone hath heed of worthy ends, 

Pays vanity its lawful homage, lives 

A reverent votary of self-esteem, 

And dying passes with calm vogue to where 

After life's fitful fever she sleeps swell . . . 

But now the chandeliers are all ablaze, 

O'ertwined with smilax, and the mantels bloom 



8 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

With balmy roses, rare, one dollar each, 

In this our grand Fifth Avenue abode, 

Leased for a twelvemonth. From Chicago we, 

Primarily, but here have paused awhile, 

To test the social pleasures of New York. 

What triumphs we shall win or what shall miss 

We know not, for the future none may read 

Of purblind men, and all fate's ways are dark. 

But look, my daughter comes, with six bouquets, 

Sent by herself, a shape superbly clad, 

Her lustrous little slipper gleaming neat 

Below her garb's pale miracle of taste, 

And over all her gold hair, coiled and'curled 

In architectural complexity. 

Jane. 



Mamma, beloved with filial tenderness, 
Reveal if in my costume any flaw 
Offends thee; for thy good opinion 
I cherish as dry leaves the slant fresh rain. 



THE BUN TUNG BALL, g 

Mrs. Buntling,. 
Daughter, alike my comfort and my pride, 
Put faith in this frank thing I clothe with speech; 
Unfiawed is thine attire, and thou, sweet child, 
Beamest a star of modish maidenhood. 

Jane. 
Most glad am I ; such words bring grateful peace : 
Lo, now, it is almost eleven o'clock. 
Our invitations named the hour of nine, 
Which meant eleven ; the guests will soon arrive.. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
See, child, your honored father comes this way. 
Displeased he looks, as one who wears with pain 
Apparel irksome to rebellious limbs, 
Close-clinging pantaloon and tight dress-coat. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Hear me, O Anastasia, headstrong wife, 
A web of snares about thine husband's feet. 



io THE BUNTLING BALL. 

So much this high stiff collar frets my neck, 

I do avow I will not wear it more. 

Ah, woe is me, that am so poor being rich ! 

Mrs, Buntling. 
That man is poor who fears to spend his wealth. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Hard is the task to squeeze good gold from Pork. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
O word abominable ! Name it not I 

Mr. Buntling. 
Fain would I dine at noon and sup at six. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
With such low tastes from Europe you return ? 



Mr. Buntling. 
What's Europe but a nest of snobs and fools ? 



THE BUNT LING BALL. n 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Refrain from such mad phrase, lest thou be heard ! 

Mr. Buntling. 
By whom ? By guests who know nor me nor thee? 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Soon shall I know them. Money rules New York. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Nay, I have heard of Knickerbockers proud. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
They once were proud ; now money is their god. 

Mr. Buntling. 
'Tis good to trace from Peter Stuyvesant. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
'Tis good to sup on terrapin and duck. 

Mr. Buntling. 
They, too, have purses fat ; they will not come. 



12 THE BUN TUNG BALL. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
I fear not this. Five millions are thy gain. 

Mr. Buntling. 
The papers cried me down as upstart cad. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
They did ; no more they do so; I have paid. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Bribe as thou wilt ; the Press will say its say. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
The Press is bought ; all scribblers have their price. 

Mr. Buntling. 
O subtly wise of women ! I succumb ! 

Jane. 
Mamma! Papa! Cease wrangling ! Lo, our guests! 

Mr. Buntling. 
True, they are here. I fondly had supposed 
That thev to Anastasia's bold " At Home" 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 13 

Would not respond. Yet greatly have I erred, 
For one by one and two by two they troop 
In through the portals of our drawing-room. 
They know not Anastasia, nor yet Jane, 
But spite of this they nimbly'bow and smile. 
O proud New York, that wast New Amsterdam, 
How art thou fallen away from dignity ! 
Methinks thy Battery and thy Bowling Green 
Should split in angered earthquake at thy shame ! 
Thou, too, indignant Peter, shouldst arise, 
A shade with slim clay pipe and ligneous leg, 
To lay thy broad staff on the ungrateful heads 
Of these thy base descendants, them that love 
Gross pelf and pander to the parvenu ! 
For such am I, even such, and better far 
The laboring Scythia's westward-pointed prow 
Nor me nor mine had hither borne unscathed 
Through the strait Narrows ; but that either strand 
Had clashing met, and whelmed off Sandy Hook 
The great ship's vigor in tumultuous waves ! 
Thus were averted this unseemly Ball, 



14 THE BUN TUNG BALL. 

Its hollow and absurd extravagance 
Checked by the grim economy of death ! 



Chorus of Knickerbocker Young Men, 

Old man, do not be nonsensical 

In your views about New York ; 
You are needlessly forensical 

For a potentate in Pork ! 
Why not recollect with gratitude 

That we throng your mansion wide, 
And express no moral platitude 

Upon Knickerbocker pride ? 
Since the days when dull old Trinity 

Was a temple far up town, 
And a girl was thought divinity 

If she owned but one silk gown; 
Since the days when each festivity 

They would all by twelve forsake, 
And the dominant proclivity 

Was for Jemonade-and-cake ; 



1 6 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Since the days when aristocracy 

Of the gender known as male, 
Would esteem it vain plutocracy 

To exploit a swallow-tail ; 
Since the days when custom's manacle 

Was a bond of rigid force, — 
Since the days thus puritanical, 

We have altered things, of course. 
For the years are cruel pillagers, 

As they lay old fashions low, 
And to live like simple villagers 

Is no longer comme il faat. 
Our progenitors (peace be with them !) 

Were a very stupid lot, 
And so little we agree with them 

That we imitate them not. 
They were certainly respectable, 

As with pride we now declare, 
But we find it more delectable 

If we draw the line just there. 
For to fling aside all flattery, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 1 7 

And to speak as hits the mark, 
They were narrow as the Battery 

When compared with Central Park. 
And if now they had their say to us, 

They would turn us all, we fear, 
Into office-clerks, and pay to us 

Hardly anything a year. 
As a crowded public gallery 

To a soft orchestral chair, 
Is the youth with slender salary 

To the dandy debonair. 
We delight in glossy carriages, 

We delight in garments new ; 
We delight in wealthy marriages, 

Though the bride's blood be not blue. 
We enjoy the fumes and essences 

Of cigars whose brands excel ; 
We adore the effervescences 

That in brandy-and-soda dwell. 
We abominate proximity 

To the rules that fret and irk : 



lS THE BUNTLING BALL. 

We detest with unanimity 

Any earthly kind of work. 
And the only bonds endurable 

To the class we represent, 
Are the sort of bonds procurable 

At from five to eight per cent. 

Mr. Buntling. 
What men are these that so alertly tell 
Their follies over, like monastic beads? 
Expansive spread the bosoms of their shirts, 
Each one a faultless oval, studded bright 
With gems of price, while snowy at their throats, 
Below the collar's high pale palisade, 
Nestles the formal tie of virgin lawn ; 
Yet these, I deem, are not the sturdy race 
Our bold Republic meant to bear for sons. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
I pray, Alonzo, you will circulate 
Freely among our guests, nor stand aloof 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 19 

Muttering moralities that ill consort 

With festal hours, and mock their merry lapse. 

Mr. BuntlinCx. 
Nay, Anastasia, these are not my guests. 
Even as a cat in a strange garret, I ! 
Even as a fish that leaves his liquid realm ! 
Already thrice my heated countenance 
With handkerchief have I perspiring mopped. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Mop thou not thus again. 'Tis execrable. 

Mr. Buntling. 
The crowded floors grow hot. Me wretchedly 
My tight habiliments annoy. With dread 
I move each arm lest I should crack a seam. 
Ah ! would that I were standing, free of limb, 
In some salubrious bar-room of Broadway, 
With amber Bourbon at my elbow placed, 
And jovial company on either hand, 
The men I love, rare comrades brisk at tales, 



20 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Themselves as I self-made and proud of this, 
Plebeian, frank, commercial, hating shams, 
Nor quite indifferent to the price of pork ! 

First Guest. 
What think you thus far of the Buntling Ball? 

Second Guest. 
I like it not. I would we had not come. 



First Guest. 
Nay, wife, thou art too ready to condemn. 

Second Guest. 
Nay, husband, it is infamously mixed. 
True, there are people here whom I have seen 
At most select assemblages of old. 
But thou and I should be particular, 
Nor tempt the wayward Fates by reckless deeds. 
Still are we on the threshold, as you know, 
Of good society ; though thy name has grown 
A tower and watchword of Monopoly, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 21 

Thy millions have provoked important gibes 

From that loud sheet, The Morning Slanderer, 

Thus aiding thee and me to reign erevvhile 

As haughty leaders. Peradventure, too, 

When Spring's first shy bud breaks, thou shalt 

become 
A member of the sacred Union Club, 
By no stern black-ball contravened, for there 
Monopolists are loved, and willing doors 
On easy hinges to their advent swing. 
But we have erred in coming to this Ball, 
Since our position still is perilous. . . . 
Let us get hence ; the revel yet is young. 

Mr. Buntling. 
" Let us get hence". , . what word was that I caught? 
Ah me ! if I should slip on stealthy foot 
Out at mine own door, and so gain the sweet 
Municipal starlight, and with glad gait seek 
That bright hotel they name the Hoffman House \ 
There could I brace my sinking courage well 



22 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

With one big genial draught, and thence return 
Ere Anastasia guessed . . . Fate wills ; I go ! 

Mrs. Buntling. 
What man is here, scarce clad in seemly garb, 
Soliciting my heed with sidelong look ? 

A Reporter. 
Lady, thy lowly servitor am I, 
Reporter on the Morning Slanderer. 
My manuscript is here. Wouldst read and give 
Approval ere it speeds to public print ? 

Mrs. Buntling. 
'Tis well. Draw closer back, below the spray 
Of this green- shadowing cactus near the arch. 
Now reach thy hand, and let my rapid gaze 
Devour what thou hast writ . . . Ah, well indeed 
Thou hast earned thy wage, good henchman of the 

Press ! 
I like thy florid language, and I like 
Thine accurate description of my robe. 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. 



23 




"The Buntling Ball a wonderful success . . , 
" New York's elite all gathered in great throng 
To welcome home a brilliant social queen . . 



24 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

" Miss Jane, the only daughter, dressed in blue, 

With pearls and sapphires on her creamy neck . . 

" Then, too, the stately flawless-mannered host, 

Mr. Alonzo Buntling, with a smile 

Of salutation exquisite for all ..." 

Ah, thou hast admirably done ! Enough ; 

Seek, ere thou goest, the butler; him command 

To give thee of thy fill in Pommery Sec 

And whatsoever viand thy palate craves. 

Eat, drink ; it is thy rightful meed. Farewell. 

Reporter. 

Lady, I thank thee. Journalism bows 
To Opulence and Beauty. 

Mrs. Buntling. 

Thank me, sir, 
No thanks, but quaff and feast with happy heart 
And may the awful future hold for thee 
An editorial chair. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 25 

Reporter. 

O ecstasy ! 
Deep in my breast henceforth I wear that hope. 

Mrs. Buntling. 

So wear it. None may truly prophesy. 
Men are but sportive drift on seas of chance. 



Chorus of Maneuvering Mammas. 

With subtle scheming 
Our brains are teeming; 
No idle dreaming 

Our bosoms know. 
Observers wily 
We notice slyly, 
And value highly 

The moneyed beau. 



26 THE BUNTLING BALL, 

They blame us greatly, 
And say sedately 
The matron stately 

Should caste revere ; 
But we, hard-fated, 
Are actuated 
To have well-mated 

Our daughters dear. 

Far less than falter, 
We may not alter 
Nor yet would palter 

With precepts dread. 
If girls must marry 
Tom, Dick, or Harry, 
Why need they tarry 

Till youth has fled ? 

'Tis clearly better 
To clinch the fetter 
By word or letter, 
By speech or pen ; 



THE BUNTL1NG BALL. 27 

And so, most wary, 
We mark how vary 
For Maud or Mary 
The moods of men. 

With magic potion 
The shy emotion 
Of their devotion 

We cannot sway ; 
By means more slender 
We strive to render 
The trifler tender 

A fiance. 

The art Circean 
Is now plebeian, 
The spell Medean 

Has lost its vogue ; 
But smiling sweetly 
And planning neatly, 
We trap completely 

The careful rogue. 



28 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Before he guesses 
That fond addresses 
And light caresses 

May vows evoke, 
Without a blunder, 
As lawful plunder, 
We push him under 

The marriage-yoke. 

Our tricks to mention 
Of tact, invention, 
We've no intention 

Nor any wish ; 
But quite demurely 
And most securely 
(Believe it surely) 

We land our fish ! 

Jane. 

How bitter sounds their frigid worldliness ! 
Steel struck on ice gives not a harsher note. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 29 

I loathe it all, yet she, my mother, trusts 

Entirely in my fealty to herself. 

Hypocrisy unspeakable is mine; 

I act a part, and am not what I seem. 

These six bouquets, sent by myself, are borne 

As mask and sham, concealing my true will. 

For I desire no vain supremacy 

In ranks of fashion, but my soul has bowed 

In reverent homage to Leander Briggs. 

Obscure is my Leander ; we have met 

But thrice ; he is a simple dry-goods clerk, 

Yet his pure, lofty soul towers high above 

The gross necessities of dry -goods ; he 

Is nobly eminent, a man of men. 

Would he were here to-night ! . . I dream his 

eyes 
Now gaze upon me in regretful scorn. 

Leander Briggs. 
Jane, loveliest of all womankind ! I dare 
To greet thee ; I am insolently here! 



$o THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Jane. 
Here ! Thou, Leander ? Thou art here to-night ? 

Leander. 
I am. 

Jane. 
By invitation ? 

Leander. 

Nay, without. 

Jane. 
What means this unsurpassed audacity ? 

Leander. 
Nay, hearken ere thou blame. Since that sweet 

hour 
When thou didst purchase two yards of pink silk 
Of Meares and Company, a fierce wild flame 
Seems burning this poor heart of mine to ash. 
No more for me my boarding-house allures 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 31 

When the long dining-table buzzes high 

With social chat and gossip thrives elate. 

No more to me the obdurate beefsteak 

Nor yet the sinewy chop seem tender viands, 

For healthful appetite has fled my life, 

And ills that were not ills now monstrous loom. 

Never again the unpalatable bread, 

The inferior butter, the imporous tart, 

The gravy turned conglomerate, nor the soup 

O'erfilmed with lucid grease, can satisfy. 

Always henceforth I yearn toward better things. 

The huge emporium, with its clamors coarse, 

Its mercantile vulgarity, its yells 

Of "cash," its haggling customers, its air 

Of sordid discipline, repels and shocks. 

The " Rosebud Sociable," where once a week 

I danced with jovial friends of either sex 

In unaristocratic jollity, 

Has lost all charm; the gay Church Festival, 

With tableaux and innocuous claret-punch, 

Fails likewise to allure. Thy face, thine eyes, 



32 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Thy presence, haunt me with distracting force. 
And therefore I am here. O pity me ! 

Jane. 
That morn, when I made purchase of pink silk 
Of Meares and Company, I will avow, 
Was bright with new and strange experience. 

Leander. 
Again didst thou appear. Again pink silk 
I measured for thee with unsteady hand. 

Jane. 
True. And once more we met ! 'Twas Friday last. 

Leander. 
Thou dost recall the day ? O happiness ! 

day most memorable ! O Broadway car, 
Wherein we met ! O fateful interview ! 

Jane. 

1 learned thy name, and answered with mine own. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 33 

Leander. 
We left the car. We strolled in quiet streets, 
Enthralled by dreamy converse, each with each. 

Jane. 
'Twas terribly imprudent. I repent 
Mine act. I told thee all. No detail did I spare. 
I told thee of my proud and cold mamma; 
1 told thee of my democratic sire ; 
I told thee of the future Buntling Ball. 

Leander. 
Thou didst. And eagerly I listened, too; 
And passionately I responded, soon; 
And ere we parted I had made resolve 
To win thee as my bride, and sworn my love. 

Jane. 
We cannot wed. Thine act is desperate 
In coming hither. If mamma should dream 
What man thou really art, her wrath would fall 
Alike on me and thee with fearful weight. 



34 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

She wills that I shall wed some haughtier name, 
Some man with old Dutch blood, though lean of 

purse. 
Yea, she would stare on thee with ireful eyes, 
To know thee as a guest unbidden of her, 
And straightway she would give austere commands 
For thine ejection :' wherefore, tarry not, 
But go at once, nor even delay to taste 
The succulent oyster and the bronze-brown quail. 

Leander. 
Quail me no quails, O thou supremely loved! 
Nay, oyster me no oysters, cruel heart ! 
I have braved for thee expulsion's bhing shame, 
And bitter indeed this welcome that I get. 
Is love so weak in thy chill maiden breast 
That fear can slay it thus, nor lightly let 
One meagre smile pass faintlier o'er thy lips 
Than silvery gleams of sky in bleak sere lands ? 
Hast thou no boon, no little tender boon, 
That I departing may depart withal? 



THE BUNTLIIVG BALL. 35 

No timorous palpitance of moistened lid, 
No transitory touch of palm to palm, 
No last brief look of love immeasurable, 
Blossoming between thine eyelids and thine eyes? 

Jane. 
Whence hast thou caught such warm-hued trick of 

speech ? 
Thine eloquence is like the bloomful chintz 
That florid, sanguine, gorgeous, hangs for sale 
Above thy counter at the Meares bazaar. 

Leander. 
Let me go hence. I think I shall not live 
A great while, now. When thou shalt hear the 

news 
That I am dead at Number Twenty-Blank 
West Thirty-Seventh Street, front room, third floor, 
I pray of you to bear it well in mind 
That I particularly do request 
No flowers be sent. Such act were mockery. 



S6 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Jane. 
Nay, not if black death veil thine eyes in truth. 

Leander. 
Flowers are for those who leave sweet memories. 

Jane. 
Thy memory would bide sweet if I still lived. 

Leander. 
Live shalt thou, for no grief would make thee die. 

Jane. 
Great grief would melt my heart. Of this thou art 
sure. 

Leander. 
Sure am I not. Thou speakest weightless words. 

Jane. 
As an ice-cream on a warm plate am I. 

Leander. 
Thou meanest that thy spirit bids me stay ? 



__ 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. 37 

Jane. 
I neither bid thee stay nor bid thee go. 

Leander. 
Wrapped is thy meaning in obscure retorts. 

Jane. 
Have care ; mamma approaches ; thou art seen. 

Leander. 
Seen am I . Yet being seen I shall not heed. 

Jane. 
Not heeding thou shalt do most grievous things, 

Leander. 
So shall I then not heed, imploring thee 
To fly with me this very night and seek 
A clergyman, who straight will make us one. 

Jane. 
Mamma draws near. What folly hast thou said ? 



38 THE BUNT LING BALL. 

Leander. 
I have said no folly. Dost thou deem it such? 

Jane. 
Should I do this mad thing, I must get wraps. 

Leander. 
Sealskin and wool thou verily must get. 

Jane. 
Get them I would if courage failed me not. 
Yet hark ! What mean those voices loudly raised ? 

Chorus of Social Strugglers. 

In the dim beginning of years, 

In the dumb blind yearning of earth, 
There were Saurian shapes, it appears, 

Of huge and exorbitant girth. 
These invertebrates, awful to view, 

Were by no means a matter for scoff, 
While our planet, as yet rather new, 

Geologically cooled off. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 39 

But still, as they wallowed in slime 

And on mammoths inferior fared, 
With man, the last product of time, 

They are not to be classed or compared. 
And yet it would wake no amaze 

To discover that creatures like these 
Were divided in various ways 

By preadamite social degrees. 
For if man is the product obscure 

Of the ages before he began, 
Very likely such monsters impure 

Bore a certain resemblance to man. 
And if this be the case, we might deem 

That the sole similarity lay 
In an antediluvian scheme 

Of an organized haute vole'e. 
For since the least animal life 

This terrestrial globe brought to view, 
The doctrine of rank has been rife, 

And the code " I am better than you." 



40 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Twas in Egypt, four thousand years past, 

Very much as to-day it is seen ; 
No democracy yet has killed caste, 

No rebellion, and no guillotine. 
And therefore in choric accord 

Confessing our effort and pain, 
We think we can safely afford 

To state how we struggle and strain. 
We have pushed, we have elbowed with might 

We have scrambled and striven with zeal ; 
There is no sort of possible slight 

We've allowed ourselves really to feel. 
We have entered at doors where we knew 

That our presence unwelcome would pass, 
Yet have dauntlessly carried things through 

By a solid assumption of brass. 
We have witnessed from hostess or host 

The crudest scorn they could show, 
But have never permitted, at most, 

An idea that we misfht be de trop. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 4* 

We are snubbed, yet we never much mind ; 

Affronts we accept, bold or sly ; 
We are constantly seeking to find 

A patron or patroness high. 
You may frown ; we responsively cringe : 

You may hate ; we will merely repine. 
On our self-respect you may impinge, 

But though sad we will ask you to dine. 
If you wound us, perchance we may bleed, 

Yet the blood is clandestinely shed ; 
We desire that our sons may succeed ; 

We desire that our daughters may wed. 
We desire that our husbands and wives 

May be pushed along, high and still higher 
We are all, through our feverish lives, 

In perpetual state of desire. 
We are certain the realms that we seek 

An insipid frivolity rules, 
And at least seven times every week 
We remind ourselves that we are fools. 



^— 



42 THE BUNTUNG BALL, 

But in spite of such wholesome disdain, 
With a fervor 'twere false to deny, 

We incessantly struggle and strain, 

We shall struggle and strain till we die. 

Mrs. Buntling. 

As a bow that is bent, 

Are determined their deeds ; 
As a shaft that is sent, 
So their energy speeds, 
And the might of their snobbery riots as a tangled 
and poisonous weed's. 

Semichorus of Social Strugglers. 

As the famishing lip 

When it yearns after food, 

As the homeward-bound ship 

When by tempest pursued, 

So beyond Aristocrat's portals we daringly long 

to intrude, 




Mrs. Buntling. 
They are guilty of 
guile, 
They are reckless of 
ruth ; 
For deception and 
wile 
They abandon all 
truth ; 

They are clad with impervious cuticle, rhinoceroses 
forsooth ! 



Semichorus. 
At the verge of a shrine, 
At a goddess's feet, 



44 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Our brows we incline 
And in worship compete, 
As we bring to the idol our tributes, our offerings 
many and sweet. 

Mrs. Buntling. 

She is cold, she is calm, 

This goddess ye name ; 
From your suppliant palm 
Great gifts will she claim ; 
Ye must serve her with dinners and banquets, with 
wines of pre-eminent fame. 

Semichorus. 

The aromas that rise 

From her altar must tell 
Of those dainty supplies 
The bon vivant loves well, 
Out of kitchens Delmoniconian, where the poets of 
cookery dwell. 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. 



45 



Mrs. Buntling. 
To her priests ye shall bear 
Half the incomes ye hold, 
To her priestesses fair 
Floral treasures untold, 
Yea, the Jacqueminot red as your heart's-blood, the 
Marshal Niel hued like your gold. 

Semichorus. 

These boons we have brought, 

And will bring them again, 

Till the heed we have sought 

We shall proudly attain, 

As reward for the canvas-back roasted, the libation 

of costly champagne. 



Mrs. Buntling. 
If my loyalty swerves, 

Make it stanch, I adjure . . . 
To the rich man who serves 

Will his guerdon be sure, 



46 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Though he sternly has trampled on pity, though 
his heart no humanity lure? 

Semichorus. 
Such a man for his prize, 
As we haste to declare, 
In the goddess's eyes 

Holy merit shall wear . . . 
Though a millionaire cry " Damn the people," 'tis 
condoned if he be millionaire. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
After heart-break and sigh 

From December till May, 
After much humble-pie 
Swallowed every day, 
Does it pay to have striven and conquered ? O ye 
that yet strive, does it pay ? 

Semichorus. 
We can give you aright 

Neither praise nor dispraise 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 47 

Of the goal whose delight 
Still recedes from our gaze ; . 
Yet with confident spirit, O lady, we respond that 
we do think it pays. 



Mrs. Buntling. 

When all has been done, 

When no more is to do, 
.What has truly been won ? 
What shall truly accrue ? 
O respond, is it worth having aimed at, or all cock- 
adoodledoo ? 

Semichorus. 

From reports we have heard 
We can answer you thus : 
It has all been averred 
A preposterous fuss, 
Where the mountain is constantly groaning, to bear 
the ridiculus mus. 



48 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Then why do ye yearn 

Without pause or surcease, 
Like to captives that burn 
For benignant release ? 
Or is it a mere monomania, a bedlamish kind of 
caprice ? 

Semichorus. 
O lady, our craze 

Is absurd, we admit, 
By a singular phase 
Of dementia hit; 
But to state the mere fact of our lunacy, alas, will 
not help it a bit. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Are not they the most blest 

Whose affections incline 
To the home as a nest 

Where all comforts entwine ? 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 49 

To the kiss matrimonial at six, and the slippers 
made ready at nine ? 

Semichorus. 
Nay, the goddess ordains, 

Lest ye shrink from her strife, 
That each votary gains 

Her abhorrence through life, 
If the wife pay regard to her husband, or the hus- 
band show love for his wife. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Must a husband be cold? 

Must a wife seem untrue? 
What ye calmly unfold 
As the course to pursue, 
Is excessively wrong and improper, regarded from 
my point of view. 

Semichorus. 
Forbear thus to rail ; 
Forbear thus to storm. 



50 THE BUN TUNG BALL. 

The female and male, 

Though their wedlock be warm, 
Must meet as acquaintances merely, since more is 
considered bad form. 

Mrs. . Buntling. 

But may not such plan 

Bring calamitous hurt ? 
May a full-wedded man 
With a wedded wife flirt ? 
Does New York aristocracy boldly all moral exam- 
ples desert? 

Semichorus. 

Propriety awes, 

Beyond question or doubt, 
And her obdurate laws 
It is folly to flout ; 
Yet recall the Eleventh Commandment, which runs, 
"Thou shalt not be found out." 



THE 'BUNTLING BALL. 51 

Mrs. Buntling. 
I am shocked, I am dazed 

By the words you employ; 
All my soul is amazed 
That you jestingly toy 
With principles cherished from childhood, as talis- 
man, safeguard and joy. 

Semichorus. 
They that foothold would seek 

Past the great social dam, 
Must consent to be meek 
As an innocent lamb; 
They must bow their heads tamely, devoutly, in 
humble submission to sham. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Is there nothing sincere 

In the creeds you adore ? 
Are the aims you revere 

Utter fraud and no more ? 



52 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

If you care to be natural, honest, are you voted at 
once as a bore ? 

Semichorus. 
In the big masquerade 

Of pretension and pelf, 
You are sure to be laid 
Very soon on the shelf, 
If you have the audacious candor to appear repre- 
senting Yourself. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
So be it, if so inflexibly it is. 
Who shall put bridle in the teeth of Fate ? 
Who shall control Society's dread laws ? 
Nay, ye that struggle with such ardent stress, 
I am touched by pity of your eager needs. 
And yet take courage ; banish dark despair; 
Are ye not here at this the Buntling Ball ? 
'Tis true the assemblage is not quite select, 
Being large beyond the common festal scope. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 53 

Still, I have found ye on trustworthy lists, 
Obtained from Jones, the managerial one, 
Who served as clerk of the dead sexton, Brown. 
Poor Brown (peace rest him !) knew with search- 
ing ken 
The grades of difference in all families 
Whose carriages for half a century 
He had called at weddings, funerals, and balls. 
Now Jones succeeds him, honest, capable, 
No man of bluster and obesity, 
As thus I am told his predecessor, Brown, 
Completely was ; but he has given me all 
The names considered of decisive note ; 
And therefore ye were hospitably asked 
By me, not knowing if ye were high or low, 
To swell this gorgeous throng; but subtle time, 
Whose face is old yet whose deceits are young, 
May land ye safe on heights of proud success, 
If patiently ye push as heretofore. 
Push with good hope and fear not; ye shall win 
The calm delectable summit ere ye guess. 



54 THE BUN TUNG BALL. 

And as for sham, if sham be god, bow low 

In reverential homage unto sham. 

Frank speech is well and lying tongues are ill, 

If ordinary cares engross the thought. 

But now extraordinary indeed is this, 

The attempted altitude of fine prestige 

Ye fain would climb, to dwell on its far slopes, 

In unassailable serenity, 

Deaf to the cries of them that fare below. 

Once, as ye will recall, ye cried like them, 

And no one heeded ; those to ye were deaf 

As ye to these one day shall also prove. 

Then shall your hour of conquest dawn and smile ; 

Then shall ye tingle with untold content, 

Remembering that through honest vassalage 

To fraud, servility, hypocrisy, 

Ye gained the haughty hold ye then shall claim. 

Speed ye, poor strugglers, rich yet sadly poor, 

In this your firm unflinching enterprise. 

For I am with ye, I am one of ye, 

Even I, who also would attain your goal 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 55 

And reign among the socially elect. 

Bitter yet brief should be the contest waged; 

Nor I nor mine shall falter ; Jane, my child, 

Will aid me, heiress to colossal wealth. 

For Jane is loyal, and most filial, too ; 

Whom I would will to have her wed she straight 

Will acquiesce in meekly wedding; thus 

New power will come from her alliance proud, 

For proud it shall be past all dream of doubt. 

Semichorus. 
Where is your Jane ? 

Why has she fled from us ? 
Jane, we maintain, 

Hides her sweet head from us. 
Does she dislike us ? has she a fear of us ? 
People will sometimes, as soon as they hear of us, 
Turn with a sort of an ominous dread from us. 
Jane, we explain, 
Thinking us vain, 
Thinking us vapid and selfish and frivolous, 



5 6 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Jane, it is plain, 

With her disdain 

Doubtless would mortify, wither and shrivel us. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
You err in dreaming that my daughter seeks 
To avoid you. Every guest in her regard 
Is equal. She has marked no difference 
In social grades; that knowledge will result 
Later, when suitors throng with rivalries 
Of adulation and their various claims 
As eligible bachelors beam out 
Clear, like the larger stars in twilight heavens. 
Experience also of your womankind 
Will soon enlighten both herself and me 
Regarding whom to flatter, whom to hold 
At decorous distance, whom to snub outright. 
But now her snobbery, like a lily's bud, 
Sheathed in green ignorance, is immature, 
Indefinite, undetermined. Credit me, 
Her absence means but some stray accident, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 57 

Perchance a mutinous ambuscaded pin, 
Perchance the abrupt keen twinge of tight-shod 
foot. 

Semichorus. 

Jane, as we learn, 

Is not absent at all. 
Her we discern 

Just at hand, within call. 
There from the alcove's obscurity 
Glimmers her maidenly purity, 
While, amid fancied security, 
Held in agreeable thrall. 
Who is the gentleman near to her ? 
Is he a personage dear to her ? 
Is he a gallant 
Of fortune and talent, 
Reviving some old souvenir to her? 
Surely a delicate mystery 
Shrouds their acquaintance's history. 
Where did they meet the last time ? 



58 THE BUNTLIMG BALL. 

Was it in pain or in pastime ? 

Why does he press with such eagerness 
Her hand in its glove-encased meagrenes.s? 
Why are her soft eyelids fluttering ? 

Why do the pink blushes warm her so ? 
What is he tenderly uttering ? 
Is he insane 

With a passion for Jane, 
And does he at present inform her so? 

Jane. 
Forbear, Leander. Look, we are observed. 
Your eloquence is awful in its force; 
Never since earliest girlhood have I known 
Such power of human speech. They took me, once, 
To a great wood in some suburban place 
Not far from famed Chicago. There I heard 
A preacher at camp-meeting. He was black, 
But oh, the fervor of his rhetoric 
Dwells in my memory still . . . He spoke like you, 
Though less grammatically, I admit. 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. 59 

Leander. 
And you will fly ? Oh, love irresolute, 
Why hang my soul on indecision's thread, 
That perilous film-like bridge o'er dark despair, 
Slung between Yes and No at either side ? 

Jane. 
Now half consenting, 
Anon refusing, 

Yet always thrilling, 
In doubt I stay. 

Leander. 
At last relenting, 

My counsel choosing, 

O maid unwilling, 

Decide, I pray ! 

Jane. 
The days romantic 
Have passed forever ; 



60 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Eloping mortals 
Are not the mode. 

Leander. 

When love is frantic 
It enters ever 

The church's portals 
By any road. 

Jane. 

I like a marriage 

With music pealing, 
With flowers bridal, 
With veil and cake. 

Leander. 

You so disparage 
My ardent feeling 
That suicidal 
Intentions wake. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 61 

Jane. 
I like a wedding 

With bridemaids merry, 
With gay collection 
Of guests urbane. 

Leander. 
Your words are shedding, 
Jane, a very 
Severe dejection 
O'er heart and brain. 

Jane. 
I hate to marry 

(Forgive my candor) 
With no surrounding 
Of nice expense. 

Leander. 
Your statements carry 
To your Leander 



6 2 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



Alarm astounding 
And pain intense. 

Jane. 
Girls will be girls, Leander. We are made 
In different wise from ye, and cannot help 
Desire for nuptial pomp when we are wed. 
No day in all a girl's life equals one — 
Her wedding-day. And yet, I will be brave. 
If strategy can aid me to steal forth, 
Following your supplications, I will go. 

Leander. 
Dear acquiescent Jane ! And yet I trace 
Reluctant resignation in your phrase. 



Jane. 
Farewell the great church-organ's mellow boom 
Farewell the long train shimmering up the aisle 
Farewell the point-lace drapery richly hung 
Down o'er the neck bediamonded bright ; 
Farewell the attendant maidens, the bouquets, 



THE BUNT LING BALL. 63 

The subsequent reception — farewell all ! 
Well do I fare, perchance, in thy true love, 
Since brides that have no love like thine fare ill 
Yet sweet it were to wed thee not by stealth, 
But openly, engirt with joyful guests, 
And feel, departing in my travelling-robe, 
A storm of slippers pelt the carriage-roof. 

Leaxder. 
Still thou wilt go, heeding thy promise givem 

Jane. 
Yes, I will go, if subtlest guile can serve. 

Leander. 
Your mother sets her glance upon my face. 

Jane. 
Retire, nor fail in speed, though let thy mien 
Betray no fugitive intent or aim. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Daughter, what gentleman was he who ceased 
A moment since from converse with thvself ? 



64 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Jane. 
Nay, how should I know rightly, dear mamma ? 
He named his name, yet memory loses it. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
His air and costume lacked patrician grace. 

Jane. 
I thought not thus. He seemed the same as they 
Who smile bland smiles on every side of us, 
Though possibly the parting of his hair 
Had less of mathematic symmetry; 
Perchance his boots were of less dazzling gloss. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
I thought he wore white satin at his throat, 
Above a shirt with rich embroidery 
Densely encrusted. If this thing be true, 
I doubt his right to rank among my guests, 
And fancy him a shrewd impostor, come 
Hither audaciously without a card. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 65 

Jane. 
Such fancy were injustice, oh, be sure. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
He did not bear the same sleek dapper mien 
As yonder gentleman, whose name I know, 
Florimel Filigree, a personage 
Who is assumably professional, 
Like our musicians and our caterers. 
For I have learned that he is wont to lead 
The German at festivities like these. 

Jane. 
Yet therefore not professional, perhaps. 
Beware, mamma, lest thou shouldst rashly err. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Nay, wherefore should the leader of one's band 
Be paid, the leader of one's German not ? 
Daughter, thy knowledge of society 
Here in New York is vaguer than my own, 



66 THE BUNT LING BALL. 

Though mine, I will accede, is yet obscure. 
Forbear to urge false views, and credit mine, 
Since none of stouter verity hast thou. 

Jane. 
(Would I could slip with steps unnoted hence, 
Gain my own chamber, covertly change dress, 
And after join Leander where he waits. 
The chance arrives . . . Mamma becomes absorbed 
In amiable talk with him she named 
Florimel Filigree ... I disappear.) 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Sir, if I recollect aright, you are 
The person recommended to conduct 
My German, at the hour of one o'clock. 

Florimel Filigree. ' 
The person recommended ! Madam, I 
A person recommended to conduct 
Your German ! Do my ears play tricks with me? 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 67 

Chorus of Belles. 
Come with bright boots and with loveliest of collars, 

Leader most perfect, dancer divine, 
With the sense of an income of many dollars, 

With a hand white as milk, with an instep fine ; 
Bind on thy best pnmps, O thou most fleet, 
Over thy Terpsichorean feet, 
For the sayings of sages, the seekings of scholars, 

Are futile against fascinations like thine. 

How may we charm thee, how may we chat to thee, 
Bow at thy bidding and fealty swear? 

Be more beloved than thy cane or thy hat to thee, 
Proudlier prized than thy best boutonniere ? 

For the waltzings of others are unto thine 

As the worms that glint to the stars that shine; 

And expressing this tender trifle or that to thee 
Is worth all the wisdom the ages wear. 

For winter's winnings are not yet over, 
Nor all that the season of snow secures ; 



68 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

The dinners attracting lover to lover, 
The balls alive with flirtation's lures ; 

And your speeches more soft than flocculent cotton, 

Whenever delivered are unforgotten, 

And notwithstanding the guile they cover, 
Sentence by sentence their spell endures. 

The glad belle feeds, while her smooth cheek 
flushes, 

On language hinting thine ardent suit ; 
The pure faint flame of her being flushes 

From foot to brow and from brow to foot ; 
And brow and foot are as one sweet fire, 
And her heart is filled with a fond desire, 
While girt of thine arm she gayly rushes 

Over ball-room floors to bassoon and flute. 

Florimel Filigree. 

Maidens, what do ye singing? Wherefore sing 
Thus jocundly in praise of my poor self? 



7© THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Chorus of Belles. 
Raiment of praise we bring to thee, 
Worthy to mantle and cling to thee, 

Songs we uplift 

As thy merited gift. 
And rejoice while we loyally sing to thee. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Nay, maidens, though blind fate has wrought me 

thus, 
With hyacinthine locks on stainless brow; 
Though tailoring adroit has helped my shape 
To show its utmost manly majesties, 
Why therefore should ye rather seek my note 
Than that of others, wealthier if less fair ? 

Chorus of Belles. 
We cannot assert we would deign for thee 
Such choice as we now entertain for thee, 

If thine income were less 

Than we venture to guess 
Its absolute annual gain for thee. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Ye like me then for nothing save my store 
Of miserable lucre ! Woe is me! 

Chorus of Belles. 
Not for this do we like thee exclusively, 
Though pelf we regard not illusively ; 

Our opinion exalts 

Thy superb way to waltz, 
While we grant that we laud it effusively. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Maidens, I thank ye. Sweet your tones of cheer 
After gross insult given a moment since. 

Chorus of Belles. 
Not a maiden who hears thee but will agree — 
Yea, if scorned in the past, but will still agree — 
That as leader supreme 
Of the German's quaint scheme 
She acknowledges Florimel Filigree. 



72 THE BUNTLING BALL, 

Among fops full of impudent vanity 
Thou shinest for sense and urbanity, 

And if any one states 

That our praise overrates, 
We denounce his dissent as insanity. 

Oh, the manners of fashion are quackery, 
And its morals mere frail bric-a-brac-erie ; 

And the modern young beau, 

As the best of us know, 
Should be scorched by a Dickens or Thackeray. 

But in thee we find no superfluity 
Of empty conceit and fatuity ; 

In thee doth abide 

Solid merit outside 
Of thy large and attractive annuity. 

Yea, thou art deserving of benison 

As the ball-room's most elegant denizen ; 



THE BUNT LING BALL. 73 

In honor we hold 
Thy moustache of spun gold, 
Which would shame not a stanza by Tennyson. 

No prince of the blood in days far-agone, 
No Duke of Lorraine or of Aragon, 

Could boast, we declare, 

A more exquisite air 
Than our darling, our pet, and our paragon. 

More supple than willow or hickory 
When trained by the bow-bearer's trickery, 

Thy feet can explore 

The expanse of the floor 
In a style that would startle Terpsichore. 

Each maiden is fondly insatiate 
Herself in thy heart to ingratiate, 

And all of our clique 

Could continue a week 
On thy personal charms to expatiate. 



74 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Chorus of Wall-flowers. 
Cease, O girls, your daring song, 
Full of adulation mad 
For the nimble-footed lad 
Whom your fulsome praises wrong. 
Gazing on your dainty throng, 
Well we mark you sneer and pout; 
Well we know ye scorn and flout 
Them that now severely chide. 
Much, ye deem, our eyes would see 
In the form of Filigree, 
If 'twere not our doom to mope 
Far from his approving glance, 
Everlastingly denied 
Any little spark of hope 
That his feet will pause beside 
Us whom no one asks to dance. 
Rightly have ye judged perchance; 
Yet the lonely wall-flowers brood, 
In their sad neglected state 
Of perpetual solitude ; 



76 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Oft they muse and cogitate 

On the conduct bold and rude 

Of the belles more fortunate. 

Oft they make their murmur low 

At your sentiments imbued 

With such artificial glow. 

Ah, we lonely wall-flowers guess 

All your schemes, astute and shrewd, 

All the deep, deceptive wiles, 

All the Machiavellian smiles 

That accomplish your success, 

Leaning limp against the wall, 

With no gardener at all 

To relieve our irksome lot. 

Fain our tendrils would incline 

With dependence feminine 

Toward some stout supporting bole ; 

Yet we may secure it not, 

And the yearning must control 

Of each disappointed soul. 

Never may the wall-flower tell. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 77 

Though she ponder many hours, 
Just by what peculiar spell 
She is unlike other flowers; 
Never may she learn the whence 
Of such doleful difference. 
Though she strive with all her powers, 
Never may she be a belle ! 
This alone she understands, 
While the seasons run their sands, 
And the dread more darkly lowers 
Of a spinster's hated name. 
Surely 'tis not odious looks, 
Mottled skin or arms that flame, 
Clumsy waist or shapeless hands, 
Eyes that squint or nose that crooks, 
Nor a neck whose outline owns 
To the -unsymmetric shame 
Of conspicuous collar-bones. 
Why we ever fail to please, 
Why we pine in lone distress, 
Why we languish partnerless, 



78 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Is from no defects like these. 

Yet we grant we cannot seize 

Those resources of finesse 

Which our bolder sisters use ; 

We admit we cannot flirt, 

Ogle, simper, and employ 

Half a hundred modes alert 

To bewilder and amuse, 

To entangle and decoy. 

Then, moreover, we enjoy 

No excess of worldly gain : 

Were we heiresses, indeed, 

All anxiety and pain 

Would depart from Us with speed. 

For the heiress may be plain 

As late autumn's rusty weed, 

May be florid, freckled, spare, 

Awkward, bouncing, shambling, staid, 

Huge of bulk and harsh of voice, 

Yet the instances are rare 

Of her dying an old maid, 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. 79 

Save she does so out of choice. 
Haunting balls where she is thought 
An encumbrance at the best, 
Thither mercilessly brought 
By mammas who never rest 
From their lectures when at home, 
Haply in the wall-flower's breast 
Loftier longings find a place, 
That she judges light as foam 
All which idly happens here, 
And has no desire to face 
An assemblage of such mere 
Meretricious atmosphere. 
It may be that in her brain 
Great ideas have taken root, 
From the circles which contain 
Modern thinkers of repute ; 
It may be that she would fain 
Calmly, diligently list 
Unto themes which more invite 
Than to canter, night by night, 



THE BUNTLWG BALL. 

Through the German's twirl and twist, 

With a spry fop at her wrist ; 

It may be that she is quite 

Wed to Matthew Arnold's views, 

Loving Sweetness, loving Light ; 

It may happen that the gist 

Of her close research pursues 

Herbert Spencer's creed of doubt, 

While she serves as his devout 

Fellow-evolutionist. 

Or perchance, with aim more mild, 

On aesthetic fancies bent, 

She an earnest ear has lent 

To the words of Oscar Wilde, 

And would paint the undefiled 

Lily on a velvet ground, 

Or the sunflower represent 

In rich needlecraft profound. 

Or she may have spared no stern 

Industry to probe and scan 

All the doctrines which concern 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Woman as the peer of Man. 

Yet, whatever plea or plan 

That the wall -flower may confess 

With effusive eagerness 

For employments far aloof 

From the shallow pomp she meets, 

Redolent of stale deceits, 

Always coldly, ne'ertheless, 

Every intellectual proof 

Thus exhibited receives 

Her mamma's complete rebuff. 

O the hapless wall-flower grieves 

At parental treatment rough, 

Told more times than she can count 

(As if once were not enough), 

That she lets her chance slip by, 

That she seems a wretched guy, 

That the generous amount 

Spent upon her brave attire 

Should excite her to apply 

Stout ambition's force and fire, 



82 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

And be wedded ere she fades, 

Ere she ranks with ancient maids. 

Thus mammas will bid aspire, 

Thus they rouse the wall-flower's ire, 

Thus they goad and taunt till she 

Desperately yearns to be 

Mated, howsoe'er amiss, 

With some vapid spouse like this 

Flippant Florimel Filigree. 

Florimel Filigree. 
I hear ye, plaintive girls, yet heed ye not. 
A keener pain has dealt me deeper wounds 
Than all your querulous clamors may bestow. 
For, look ye, of stainless name, unflawed repute, 
I have been held until this fatal hour. 
In sovereign isolation did I reign 
Over all envious competitors. 
My necktie was an edict, and my coat 
A proclamation ; my new-purchased cane 
Struck jealousy to countless burning hearts. 



THE BUSTLING BALL. 83 

My smile was canonizing in its gleam, 

And made a sacred belle of her it cheered. 

Ye wall-flowers could not reach its precious light, 

But dwelt in shadow of its chill recoil, 

Wherefore ye scowled and grumbled in your 

spleen. 
I was till now the blameless arbiter 
Of fashion, style, decorum and prestige. 
But lo, I am insulted, put to shame, 
Miscalled in terribly calumnious way 
A person recommended to conduct 
The German at this vulgar Buntling Ball. 
Ah, woe is me that am ignobly classed 
With caterers, musicians, florists, men 
Who toil for pay with gross plebeian souls. 
Why did I fling the splendor of my fame 
Thus broadcast on barbaric boorishness ? 
I should have held myself at rarer worth; 
I should have recollected I was I. 
Now never any more in future time 
It shall be as it was with Filigree. 



84 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Already do I hear the cruel tale 
Bandied from lip to lip of how I met 
Impertinence abominable, thrust 
At my respectability supreme. 



Chorus of Gossips. 

Yea, Filigree, thou shalt in sooth receive 

No mercy at our hands. 
Thou knowest, and none knows better, we believe, 
The mission that we bear, the tasks we achieve, 

In all societies throughout all lands. 
But oft we fancy that our tongues wear fork 
Deadlier and keener when we make New York 

Our lair and dwelling-place. 
And yet we peradventure do mistake, 
Thus localizing the chief woes we wake, 
Since in all cities, Paris, London, Rome, 
Wherever man is faulty, foolish, base, 
We are and shall be equally at home. 



86 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

The old classic Furies were but three, 
And yet far otherwise it is with us, 
Whose number is truly multitudinous, 
Although we flagellate in like degree. 
Think not to escape us ; vigilant are we, 
And armed at every point with cunning tact. 
Minute indeed the unimportant fact 
That can evade our piercing search ; 
Trivial indeed the least diurnal act 
That leaves our curiosity in the lurch. 

We know with what unflagging force 
Those tireless Greenbacques ever push and squeeze 
In their inflexibly propulsive course, 
And almost supplicate upon their knees 
For cards to dinners, parties, ante-prandial teas. 

We have seen Sibylla Moneypenny bow 
With cold impertinence to Ida Gray, 
Whom once she fawned upon because au fait 
In fashionable matters, but whom now 
She finds of no more use in her ascent 
Up aristocracy's aerial stairs. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 87 

We have heard how young Kate Pertinax has spent 
Whole hours in mending frocks and cleaning 

gloves, 
Since every rag the poor dear pauper wears 
Her own hand of necessity repairs, 
Turns, twists, remodels, that she still may keep 
Some sort of foothold in the loud gay world she 

loves. 
We observe, with stealthy eyes that never sleep, 
All secrets of the household, all affairs 
Domestically holy and obscure. 
Mysterious means are ours, whence we procure 
Tidings of separation and divorce, 
Delicious bits of scandal immature, 
Some merely racy, some profanely coarse. 
We know the servants' wages paid (or not) 
By many a family of good renown ; 
We mark the corner-grocer's threatening frown, 
The unrewarded butcher's piteous lot, 
The explosive milliner's resentment hot 
While dunning for some long-completed gown. 



88 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

We note the irate florist's wrath, or still 

The enraged confectioner's, or worse, 

That frequent and denunciating curse 

Of the wronged tailor, with his unreceipted bill '. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Dire are these free disclosures, and condemn 
The lips that give their spite impressive shape . . 
Since I, sweet Florimel Filigree, have erred, 
I crave with lowly grief your clement heed. 

Florimel Filigree. 
I grant you grace, though deep the hurt you dealt. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Nay, 'tis not deep enough to thwart quick cure. 

Florimel Filigree. 
My pride is delicately sensitive. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Too long on adoration thou hast fed. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Ambrosial diet, palatably rare. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Whereon dyspepsia waits, like Nemesis. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Dyspeptic am I not, nor ever was. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Pride is an indigestion of the soul. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Thou canst not understand me superfine. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Mortal thou art at most, howe'er thou vaunt. 



89 



Florimel Filigree. 
All yield to death, the exotic as the weed. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Rankest thou none on earth thy better born ? 



90 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Florimel Filigree. 
How should I, lady, since none such draws breath? 

Mrs. Buntling. 

apotheosis of wild conceit ! 

Florimel Filigree. 
'Tis not conceit to know one's vast deserts. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Great thinkers, writers, poets walk our globe. 

Florimel Filigree. 
These are but toiling servants whom we pay. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Dost thou not reverence intellect at all ? 

Florimel Filigree. 

1 reverence nothing save the claims of caste. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
O monstrous arrosrance! what man is this? 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. 9 1 

Florimel Filigree. 
Thou too reverest eminence like mine. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Wherefore assert, since thou art weak to prove ? 



Florimel Filigree. 
Plenteous my proof, else why the Buntling Ball ? 



Mrs. Buntling. 
I seek proud place, yet prize not solely this. 

Florimel Filigree. 
You seek a visiting-list of flawless kind. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
With strong desire, but not with burning hope. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Such hope were worthy ! hold it not in scorn. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Pet of the ladies, hast thou any woes ? 



<>2 



HE BUNTLING BALL. 



Florimel Filigree. 
I find it difficult to dress a blond. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Thou art American, or so I dream. 

Florimel Filigree. 
I shame to answer in affirmative. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Dost thou regret thy country and thy race? 

Florimel Filigree. 
With all my well-bred gentlemanly soul. 



Mrs. Buntling. 
Hast thou forgot the name of Washingtc 

Florimel Filigree. 
Nay, surely not! he was an Englishman. 



Mrs. Buntling. 
What word hast thou to say for Lexington ? 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Florimel Filigree. 
A silly brawl, insulting good King George. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Dost thou not heed thy country's politics? 

Florimel Filigree. 
1 vote not on election-days, but bet. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Ah, why this unexampled apathy? 

Florimel Filigree. 
I hate all principles republican. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
What others dost thou hunger for instead ? 



93 



Florimel Filigree. 
The White House turned a palace, me a Peer. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
traitorous and mad apostasy ! 



9 4 THE B UN TLING BA LL. 

Chorus of Belles. 
Vex not our dear one's mind 

With thy shallow wit ; 
Vex it not, O Unrefined, 

For thou canst not fathom it. 
Rather shouldst thou sing a measure 
Full of adulating pleasure 
To a creature of his dainty darling kind. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
What paean do ye lift to what loved god ? 

Chorus of Belles. 
Thou mayst have met him now and then, 

Albeit we candidly declare 
He seldom walks excepting when 

The weather is extremely fair. 
Most walking he esteems a bore ; 

From 'bus or car his tastes rebel ; 
And cabs he finds appropriate for 

The modern New York swell. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 95 

Yet, meeting him, 'tis ten to one 

Thou quietly hast taken note 
How nice an architect has done 

The building of his overcoat. 
Thine eye has marked the shape and shade 

Of peerless trousers, perfect hat — 
The intellectual effort made 

In tying his cravat. 

And doubtless thou hast paused and said, 

" Behold a being not designed 
The favor of one glance to shed 

On vulgar members of his kind. 
For finer clay wise Nature sought 

(It needs but half a glance to tell) 
When in propitious mood she wrought 

This modern New York swell." 

His breakfast is before him set 
At ten, eleven, sometimes two, 

And then he lights a cigarette 

And skims the morning papers through. 



g6 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

On afternoons he oft will chance 
A window at the club to try, 

And stare quite out of countenance 
The ladies who pass by. 

Or on a club-lounge he will loll, 

To wicked scandals giving heed, 
Some most ridiculously droll, 

Some very terrible indeed : 
How slightly Brassnose minds a snub, 

How Toperton has sprained his wrist,, 
How Slye will have to leave the club 

For fraudulence at whist. 

Or he will go to drive, perhaps, 

On certain favorable days, 
In one of his attractive traps 

Behind a pair of beauteous bays. 
Some noted belle displays her charms 

Beside him, if his whim permits, 
And at his back, with folded arms, 

A rigid little " tiger" sits. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 97 

J Tis rare that he alone will dine, 

Since dining out diverts him more, 
And all our best grandees incline 

To entertain him o'er and o'er. 
His million and his manners please, 

And then it looks extremely well 
To seat at their mahoganies 

A modern New York swell. 

At evening party or at ball 

He shines conspicuously bright, 
And is not looked upon at all 

In any low and menial light 
The hostesses of our haut ton 

Are always ready to admit 
That when he leads their cotillon 

He lends new charm to it. 

On opera he doth fondly dote, 
Though of its music, we confess, 

He seldom hears a single note 
With any real attentiveness. 



98 THE BUN TUNG BALL. 

From box to box he loves to float, 
And there he finds us all the same ; 

Compared with him we promptly vote 
Our favorite tenor tame. 

And thus he passes hours away, 

Yet sometimes toils, in spite of rank, 
Since new and then, for half a day, 

He cuts off coupons at the bank. 
A dreadful trouble . . . yet full well 

We know each life some care must see- 
Yea, even the life of such a swell 

As peerless Florimel Filigree. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Surely thou art beloved past common use . . . 
Wilt lead my German as first foreordained ? 

Florimel Filigree. 
Nay, lady, though I freely pardon thee 
Thy terrible unprecedented wrong, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 99 

I still am none the less debilitate, 
Demoralized, unstrung and shattered quite. 
I pray thee, therefore, ask some other man, 
Since many another would be glad to fill 
The office I resign for this one night. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Thou hast not yet beheld my daughter Jane 
With any save mayhap a cursory glance. 
Ere thou refusest, deign to mark my child, 
Thy willing partner, milky-armed, star-eyed, 
And robed in garments of the latest mode. 

Florimel Filigree. 
I search for Jane, yet I discern her not. 

Chorus of Belles. 
Jane, Jane, 
Where hast thou fled ? 

Jane, it is plain, 

Has hidden her head. 

Florimel openly shows to her 



loo THE BUNTLTNG BALL. 

Heed that by no means he owes to her ; 

And how can we say, 

Ere the night wear away, 
Whether Florimel may not propose to her ? 

Mrs, Buntling. 
Vainly I search through either spacious room. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Lady, art sure she sits not bowered aloof 
In gloom of some dim-tapestried recess, 
Beside some Anglomaniac devotee ? 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Nay, Heaven avert that any maniac guest 
Should thrust his perilous presence where I dwell. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Many have done this thing, yet fear thou not, 
Since void of harm their mild insanity. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Spite of thy charge to fear not, still I fear. 

Florimel Filigree. 
Keep silent, hearkening, and thy fear shall end. 

Chorus of Anglomaniacs. 

It is positively false to call us frantic, 

For the soundness of our mental state is sure, 

Yet we look upon this side of the Atlantic 
As a tract of earth unpleasant to endure. 

We consider dear old England as the fountain 
Of all institutions reputably sane; 

We abominate and loathe a Rocky Mountain; 
We regard a rolling prairie with disdain. 

We assiduously imitate the polish 

That we notice round the English nabob hang 
We unfailingly endeavor to abolish 

From our voices any trace of nasal twang. 



102 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Every patriotic duty we leave undone, 

With aversion such as Hebrews hold for pork, 

Since we venerate the very name of London 
In proportion to our hatred of New York. 

No entreaty could in any manner soften 

Our contempt for native tailors, when we dress ; 

If we bet, we " lay a guinea," rather often, 

And we always say " I farncy" for " I guess." 

We esteem the Revolution as illegal; 

If you mention Bunker Hill to us, we sigh; 
We particularly execrate an eagle, 

And we languish on the fourth day of July. 



We are not prepared in any foolish manner 
The vulgarities of Uncle Sam to screen ; 
We dislike to hear that dull " Star-Spangled 
Banner," 
But we thoroughly respect " God Save the 
Queen." 



104 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

We revere the Prince of Wales, though he should 
prick us 

With a sneer at the republic we obey ! 
We would rather let His Royal Highness kick us 

Than have been the bosom-friend of Henry Clay! 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Rank treason riots in their daring song. 

Florimel Filigree. 
They sing but what they feel. So bear with them. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Rather than bear with them would I rebuke. 

Florimel Filigree. 
'Twere rash to tempt their Anglomaniac scorn. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Rash though it were, I yearn to speak my mind. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

The Butler. 
Most gracious lady, supper is announced. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
I miss not merely Jane, but also him, 
My lord, Alonzo, master of this feast. 

Chorus of Belles. 
Where is Alonzo, 
Round as a barrel, 
Hating to don so 
Smart an apparel ? 
Supper is calling him, 
Martyr yet master. 
Is there disaster 
Darkly befalling him ? 
He should be near us 
In stout actuality, 
Ready to cheer us 
With fine hospitality. 
Does he forsake us, 



106 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Far in some upper room, 
When he should take us 
All to the supper-room ? 
Does he imagine us 
Disinclined slightly 
To welcome politely 
His smile oleaginous? 
Has he detected 
A vague incivility ? 
Is he affected 
By latent hostility ? 
Why should he shirk us? 
Why thus depart from us ? 
Feelings that irk us 
Angrily start from us. 
Since the festivity 
Shows a proclivity 
Both to be edible 
And to be potable, 
Nay, 'tis quite risible 
Unto the most of us 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 107 

That he, the host of us, 

Should not be visible, 

Should not be notable. 

Tell us, Alonzo, 

Where you abide from us. 

Why carry on so, 

Alonzo, and hide from us? 

Mrs. Buntling. 
I had given orders, maidens, while ye sang 
Your song half-freighted with sarcastic spleen, 
Even as an arrow is half-tipped with gall . . . 
The house in its entirety has been searched, 
Yet sign or trace is found not of these twain, 
My lord, the giver of this festival, 
My white-armed daughter, treasured past all cost. 
Ah, woe is me, upon whose modern head, 
Whose nineteenth-century head, has fallen an ill 
Most like calamities of ancient sort. 
Now, if I knew to phrase the antique mode 
Of suffering, I should peradventure tear 



ioS 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



My hair and moan with anguish classical. 
But knowing not these methods of great grief, 
I, powerless to tell my misery, 
Must uncomplainingly adopt the style 
Of modern sufferers and control myself. 
Wherefore I bid ye all, with placid mien, 
To sup, and while ye sup I bid ye think 
No thought of me deserted by her kind, 
Yearning to know the whereabouts of Jane, 
Yearning to know Alonzo's whereabouts. 
For I am sick at heart with awful dread : 
But ye, partake; the savory supper waits; 
The slim-necked bottle nestles in the ice; 
The sweet-fumed feast entices, close at hand. 
But me no appetite hath power to charm, 
Deserted, and most unexpectedly, 
By lord and offspring at the Buntling Ball. 



Chorus of Gluttons. 
We go with pleasure where you invite us, we scent 
the joyance of dainties rare; 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



The well-known odors once more excite us, with 
force sufficient to curl our hair. 

A single purpose at ball or party controls our com- 
ing, prolongs our stay ; — 

'Tis that of getting a nice and hearty substantial 
supper, with naught to pay. 

Our souls are with you, the gracious giver ; we fol- 
low gladly where'er you lead ; 

We own, each claimant, a perfect liver, and fine 
equipment to largely feed. 

Let others cherish the romping German, or see in 
chatter a charm to lure ; 

Our gastric juices alone determine whatever pas- 
time we may secure- 
No idle worship of empty Mammon, no silly babble 
of man or maid, 

Against attractions of flaky salmon or larded par- 
tridge may be arrayed. 

The eye that flashes, the lid that flutters, the fan 
flirtatious, the murmured phrase — 



THE BUNTLING BALL. m 

How slight a magic their meaning utters beside a 

lobster with mayonnaise ! 
What true contentment may pride insure us, 

through airs pretentious and vain display, 
When ranked with raptures that Epicurus, though 

dead for decades, preserves to-day ? 
Shall Kate who ogles, or blushing Mabel, or smil- 
ing Lucy, their foibles rate 
With those enticements the supper-table, when fatly 

furnished, can demonstrate? 
Do feet that twinkle, or glances dreamy, or lips that 

prattle, at all compare 
With Mumm and Clicquot a trifle creamy, ox filet 

mignon a trifle rare ? 
Nay, heed and trust us, the hue is duller on cheek 

of maiden, though mantling gay, 
Than that more balmy and bloomy color which 

brims a bottle of Beaujolais. 
The hopes of mortals may pass and perish ; their 

faith may vanish ; their foes may smite ; 



112 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

But they are happy who still can cherish the one 

last blessing of appetite. 
Though love desert us, though friends' affection to 

deeds of malice may basely stoop, 
How sweet to treasure the proud reflection that still 

we value a perfect soup ! 
While cares beset him and troubles thicken, no man 

is wretched who still can boast 
Appreciation of devilled chicken and admiration for 

quail on toast. 
Though tyrants flourish and varlets flatter, though 

kingdoms totter and slaves rise up, — 
When all is ended, how slight a matter, if still we've 

peptics to dine or sup! 
Let statesmen squabble and nations wrangle, let 

great reformers their schemes propound; 
What use to bother with life's tough tangle while 

nature leaves us a palate sound ? 
The gains of glory defeat their winner; ambition's 

bubbles explode when caught : 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 113 

There dwells more comfort in one good dinner than 
all the wisdom that Plato taught! 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Guests, if my lord, at this unseemly time, 
Hath choice to absent himself from our repast, 
Ye therefore judge the event with lenient mood, 
And feast as though your host were here in flesh. 
Nay, if you pardon frankness from the mouth 
Of one for whom politest art of speech 
Is now your debt as it should be my grace, 
I fain would venture, with all courteous heed, 
To rank no overplus of modesty 
Among those many virtues which perchance 
Adorn the social leaders of New York. 
Chide me if with untoward haste I judge, 
Gathering my quick decision from stray words 
Your lips have dropped in tones or loud or low. 
Wherefore, partake, and ere the banquet ends 
I trust this most mysterious vanishment 
Of him whose name I duteously bear, 



H4 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

And her who duteously names him sire, 

Will clear, and leave no shadow in its wake 

Of nebulous bewilderment, — as when 

The emergent sun orbs all his vivid gold 

From clouds disparting, and the enormous blue 

Of stainless heaven, swept clear by rapid gales, 

Beams brilliant o'er the moist rain-glittering 

earth . . . 
But who approaches with unwonted mien, 
And eyeballs unconventionally rolled ? 
What sharp alarm puts tremor in his lips? 
What agitation quite galvanical 
Crooks his erratic elbows, and destroys 
The equilibrium of his dorsal thews ? 

The Butler. 
Lady, I was thy butler ; but dread fright 
Me that am only man hath altered much. 

Mrs. Buntling. 



THE BUNT LING BALL. 115 

I pray fright palsy not thy trembling tongue 
Till thou hast told what baleful news it hides. 

The Butler. 
Lady, thy lord hath passed his vestibule 
And entered his well-decorated hall, 
Himself yet not himself, I shame to state. 
For he is flown with wine, hath drunken deep, 
And all his majesty of corpulence 
Is changed as when I dip the dry crisp folds 
Of a clean towel into heated suds : 
Even so thy lord is limp and flaccid now. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
O unforeseen calamity ! Get hence, 
And bid thy fellow-vassals aid thine hand 
With timely interference, ere he seek 
These crowded chambers, fronting cruel jeers. 

The Butler. 
Lady, no more could I restrain him now 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



Than round the o'erflovving goblets that I serve 
Repress the Verzenay too rashly poured. 



Semichorus of Gossips. 

Matters look extremely queer . . . 

Are we wrong or are we right ? 
Anastasia pales with fear, 

As we feel that well she might. 

Semichorus. 

Omens dark are in the air . . . 

Wait and watch, with lively sense 
Soon we all shall be aware 

Of a scandal quite* immense. 

Semichorus. 

As 'tis pleasant to aver, 

Fate especially has planned 

That whatever may occur, 

We shall have it at first hand. 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. IX 7 

Semichorus. 
Be it trivial, be it great, 

We shall note the whole affair, 
Able afterward to state, 

Calmly, proudly—" I was there." 

Semichorus. 
No one knows till he has tried, 

What enjoyment may be seized 
When the gossip feels with pride 

Curiosity appeased. 

Semichorus. 
We of course would all object 

That disaster should befall 
Any gathering select, 

Like the present Buntling Ball. 

Semichorus. 
Still, should something yet unnamed 
Stimulate our anxious fears, 



n8 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

We could surely not be blamed 
If we used our eyes and ears. 

Semichorus. 

Look ! Alonzo comes this way, 
And we plainly can assert 

That a shocking disarray 

Marks the bosom of his shirt 

Semichorus. 

Far from us the malice be 
Hateful slanders to invent ; 

But beyond a doubt we see 
That Alonzo' s coat is rent. 

Semichorus. 

Calumny we all deplore ; 

False reports we disavow ; 
But the top-knot that he wore 

Is a hirsute ruin now. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. n 9 

Semichorus. 
We despise mere reckless talk, 

Loved by malapert and dunce, 
But Alonzo seeks to walk 

Two diverging ways at once. 

Semichorus. 
'Tis not ours to interfere 

With the utterance nature grants, 
But his vowels all appear 

Angry at their consonants. 

Semichorus. 
Always with concern polite 

We from vulgar speech have shrunk ; 
But Alonzo seems to-night 

Irremediably drunk. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Alonzo, am I mad or do I dream ? 
You dawn like some unbidden ribald guest 



120 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Here on the nice decorum and fine state 
Of this the Ball I give with proud intent 
To assert my claims for social eminence. 

Mr. Buntling. 
I took a walk, to get a lilleair. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Thy lips incapably articulate 

The unwilling words that thou wouldst have them 
speako 

Mr. Buntling. 
Look here, now, Anastasia, don' getmad. 

Mrs. Buntling. 

dark calamity ! O dread disgrace ! 

Mr. Buntling. 

1 met a few friends at the Hoffmanouse. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 12: 

Mrs. Buntung. 
Forbear, I pray, to wildly seize my robe. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Real friends o' mine, you know, Chicagomen. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Friends truly were they, to have turned thee thus! 

Mr. Buntling. 
Lemme explain . . . we talked about oletimes. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Old times ! new mournful times have fallen on me ! 

Mr. Buntling. 
Oh, come, now, don' put on sushawfulairs. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Alonzo, thou art gazed on with contempt. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Don' look at me like that. I bossthisball. 



122 THE BUNTLING BALL, 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Thou bossest it ! O anguish ! O despair! 

Mr. Buntling. 
I bossthisball. I saysoanditstrue. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Still more his words play truant with his tongue. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Come, drop those airs, or else I'll giveyeaway. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Give me away ! O wild vernacular ! 

Mr. Buntling. 
I'll tell these fine folks how I married yer. 

Mrs. Buntling. 

horror! Pause, Alonzo, ere too late! 

Mr. Buntling. 
Ladies and gemmen, this good wifeomine 

1 met one day justwennyone years ago, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 123 

Before Chicago was a greatbigplace. 
Her mother was a ladyomyownheart ; 
She hadn't any frills or furbelows, 
But kept a nice respec'able candystore 
Not far from where the Grand Pacifotel 
Is now located . . . Anastasia helped 
Tend customers and I droptintoget 
Candies for Martha Stout, anothergirl 
That I was sweeton though I didntlove. 
But when I'd spent adollarormaybemore, 
I found I fancied Anastasia best, 
And so I . . . 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Guests, all thronging curious, 
With lips pursed tight as though from occult 

mirth, 
I pray ye pass toward yonder supper-room, 
Nor heed this drivelling and insensate tale 
Told by one pitifully in his cups ! 
Pass on, I do beseech of ye, pass on ! 



124 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Ah, woe is me, that strive to make ye pass, 

Yet witness only your blank hostile stares, 

Unmerciful as when the suppliant hand 

Would strive to plead with the hot lightning's lip! 

Ye bear not with me ; ye are obdurate ; 

Ye gaze with uncompassionating eyes 

At this my shame, nor leave me to its pang, 

Alone, unnoted, while ye blithely eat. 

Sure, yonder spreads the appetizing board, 

Loaded with dainties of surpassing price. 

Ye belles, ye wall-flowers, Knickerbocker swells, 

Yea, Anglomaniacs, gossips, gluttons, too, 

Retire, and leave me with my foolish lord ! 

Chorus. 
We have heard the turgid talk of your Alonzo ; 
We are scandalized that he should carry on so ; 
We allow it is our bounden task to leave you 
With the husband who can thus annoy and grieve 

you ; 
Yet in spite of dishes cooked with costly dressing, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 125 

We confess, though quite ashamed for thus con- 
fessing, 
That deserting supper's charms we still must tarry 
And observe you scold the man you chose to marry. 
His behavior, we admit, is very awful, 
His disclosures, we acknowledge, are unlawful ; 
But his entrance, with dishevelled hair and collar, 
We will grant we'd not have missed for many a 

dollar. 
It is not that we have sought your entertainment 
With a wish to see you placed in such arraign- 
ment, 
But when private woes appear like placards pasted, 
We prefer to leave your supper still untasted. 

Mrs. Buntling. 

I scarce can believe what I hear; 

Your cruelty fills me with fear. 
Do I find you conceding 
That this is good-breeding, 

At family troubles to sneer? 



126 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Chorus. 
Exception we venture to make, 
Aggrieved by your signal mistake. 

If thus you accuse us 

You sadly abuse us, 
And sombre resentment awake. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Then why do ye stoutly remain 
To criticise and to disdain, 

When surely 'twere kinder 
To heed my reminder 
And sip my expensive champagne ? 

Chorus. 
Although your request is deplored, 
Its claim is by no means ignored ; 
Yet should we desert you, 
Perchance he might hurt you ; 
This loudly inebriate lord. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. . 127 

Mrs. Buntling. 

I am not afraid in the least ; 

It were best your anxiety ceased; 
For I shall soon tame him 
And thoroughly shame him, 

When once you have fared to the feast. 

Mr. Buntling. 
The truth of the whole affair is 
That she means all she says for a quiz ; 

I'm perfec'ly able, 

By no means unstable, 
And game for a bolleofizz. 

Chorus. 
We cannot in reason deny 
Your force to oppose and defy, 

And if you continue 

Such masculine sinew, 
Your chance of success we descry. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Mr. Buntling. 
A wife should her husband obey, 
As only a fool would gainsay, 

But when I first wed her 

My wife took a header, 
And kicked half her harness away. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Absurd is the figure you cut, 
Assuming that swagger and strut ; 
Your horrid condition 
Will harm your position 
And make you society's butt. 

Mr. Buntling. 

Who cares what society thinks ? 

I don't give her twenty good winks; 
I rattle my money 
Arid laugh at how funny 

She looks when she poses and prinks. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 129 

Chorus. 
His words have a much clearer flow 
Than those we heard not long ago ; 

As might be expected, 

His wits are collected. 
And greater sobriety show. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Position I do not applaud; 
'Tis an empty and meaningless gaud; 

In Europe I told it 

How lightly I hold it, 
But here I esteem it a fraud. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
O guests, I beseech, ere too late, 
That you all will consider his state 

As that of one blindly 

Discoursing unkindly, 
From causes I need not relate. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Mr. Buntling, 
Don't mind Anastasia' s talk; 
My statements her wrath cannot balk. 

You've no more suspicion 

Of grandeur patrician 
Than cheese has resemblance to chalk. 



Chorus. 
This diatribe does not appall ; 
It rouses contempt (that is all) 
To see you exulting 
Because of insulting 
The guests at your own Buntling Ball. 

Mr. Buntling. 

I did not insult you a bit; 

My motive was proper and fit. 
Your ancestors landed 
With far more expanded 

Ideas than your snobberies hit. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 131 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Retire, I pray of you, maltreated guests, 
To where the untasted supper waits your heed. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Cry down, if so ye will, the Buntling Ball ! 
Who cares what dainty discontent ye wreak 
On me and mine? Who cares what bitter things 
Ye scornfully assert? Erewhile in drink, 
I now am sobered by your bitter smiles, 
Though left with courage of such potency 
That I dare speak my mind and say my say. 
This Ball is Anastasia's Ball alone. 
Hateful as feels the close tense garb I wear, 
Do I hold all your brummagem parade. 
Hateful I hold your unrepublican 
Conceits of caste in our Republic grand. 
Hateful I hold your liveries, arms and crests, 
Hateful your truckling lackeys, hateful all 
Your traits and uses un-American. 
For I was reared in patriotic scorn 



132 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Of those who do not reverence this dear land 

As freedom's noblest effort yet on earth. 

Perfect I do not dare to name her; still, 

She is nearer pure perfection by great strides 

Than any realm the Old World may boast of now. 

Her faults are mighty; mighty her virtues too. 

But ye with rash indifference feed her faults ; 

Ye strive to arouse in manners, morals, creeds, 

Those very vices of display and pride 

Our commonweal was wrought to crush and spurn. 

Ye are all our brave forefathers fought against; 

Ye are self-convicted foes of equal rights, 

True liberty and fine democracy. 

I gaze upon my wife, so fatally 

Enchanted by your spells, and almost hate 

This power of wealth I won by honest toil, 

Since thus its gain enslaves her to your rule. 

Ah me ! it is not many years ago 

That Anastasia, in her Western home, 

Met cheerfully her daily manual tasks, 

A willing housewife, pleased at decent thrift. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 133 

When first we married, neither thought to hire 
A servant, but with unobjecting zeal 
Our food was cooked by Anastasia's hand. 
Then later, with increased prosperity, 
Our Jane being born, in sober conference 
We chose the novel luxury of a cook. 
But many a month succeeded ere we sought 
The larger luxury of a chambermaid. 
And notwithstanding all the gold that came 
Pouring from Pork through other later years, 
I think that our dear Jane was full seventeen 
While yet we dined at noon and supped at six. 
Then Anastasia's heart ambitious grew ; 
She fain would ape the airs of folk she saw 
In street or theatre ; we must change our life; 
Dry-goods of costly kind must clothe her form ; 
She thought our basement no fit dining-room ; 
She thought our upper dining-room too small; 
She thought our modest house ridiculous; 
She thought a spacious mansion more in taste; 
She wanted servants, footmen, carriages; 



134 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



And last of all she clamored stubbornly 
That we should go abroad and marry Jane 
To some great duke or prince. I, like a fool, 
Yielding in all things, yielded finally 
To this determined whim. We went abroad, 
But did not marry Jane ; for our loved child, 
Simple in soul and full of homely tastes, 
Lacked art or wish to marry save where lay 
Her gentle preference, her maiden love . . . 
But where is Jane, my daughter, whom I named ? 
I see her not, poor dear dissembling one, 
Who oft has told me how her mother's course 
Of cold and callous worldliness would rouse 
Her own unspoken pain and secret tears. 



Mrs. Buntling. 
'Tis false that Jane hath ever thus confessed ! 
'Tis false that I am what thy dreadful words 
Presume to paint me, spurred by reckless drink, 
And sure of swift repentance when the bane 
Of this vile wine-engendered mood shall pass. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 135 

Semichorus. 
You mentioned your Jane, 

And she comes this way. 
Her face, it is plain, 

Is by no means gay. 

She looks, on the contrary, serious, 
And also a trifle imperious, 

As though there had lain 

Some distress on her brain, 
To its proper repose deleterious. 

O Jane, why should comfort forsake you so, 
And dark discontent overtake you so ? 

Why are you dejected 

With gloom unexpected, 
And what can have happened to make you so ? 

Your father, of course, has been rude to us, 
In language uncivil and crude to us; 

But you were aloof, 

And received not the proof 
Of how savagely frank was his mood to us. 



136 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Your mother, no doubt with sincerity, 
Regrets his exceeding temerity, 

But this would not place 

In your virginal face 
An expression of so much severity. 

Semichorus. 
Who is he beside you standing 
With the air of one demanding 
Your reciprocal affection 
While he offers full protection ? 
Either we have wrongly noted, 
Or we saw him thus devoted 
Ere you left us, though serener 
In his general demeanor. 
Does he offer explanation 
For your pensive perturbation ? 
All through him are you so harassed, 
Pale, defiant, yet embarrassed ? 
Hive you turned a willing student 
In the school of deeds imprudent ? 



THE BUNTLING BALL, 137 

Have you shown him tokens tender 
Of your heart's complete surrender? 
Are you now about to utter 
What shall make your parents flutter 
With its unrestrained expression 
Of idolatrous confession ? 

Jane. 
chanting voices, I detect cold scorn 
Below the melodies that ye lightly weave. 
Ye therefore will I answer not, but look 
Toward them alone whose pardon I would win ; 
Yea, pardon, since my new sole hope lies here, 
And deep will be my sorrow if it fail. 

Semichorus. 
Soon in free and full exposure 
We shall hear some strange disclosure ; 
For, O Jane, as we behold you, 
Wraps and sealskins now enfold you; 
And, reluctant to disparage, 
Still we scent a secret marriage. 



138 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

JaNe. 
Parents, 'twere best if I should use quick speech 
And let what wounds I deal be dealt with speed, 
So saving pangs more gradual truth would wake 
This youth you gaze on here beside me now 
Is named Leander Briggs, and I have sworn 
But recently before a clergyman 
To love, to honor, and obey this youth 
Till death his eyes or mine shall veil with night. 
Yea, he and I, irrevocably wed, 
Crave mercy for this matrimonial step 
Which love, the all-swaying force of human hearts, 
Hath fondly urged and wrought on us to take. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Jane Buntling, what mad jest is this of thine ? 

Jane. 
Jane Briggs that was Jane Buntling mercy pleads. 

Mr. Buntling. 
I think some dream plays trickster with my brain, 



THE BUN TUNG BALL, 139 

Jane. 
Awake thou art in every fleshly sense. 

Mr. Buntling. 
What, man is this, then, O unnatural child ? 

Jane. 
One whom to love I»found most natural. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Thou canst not long have known him ere to-night. 

Jane. 
Three happy weeks are limit of my love. 

Mr. Buntling. 
What knowledge hast thou of his worldly place? 

Jane. 
He is a dry -goods clerk of slender means. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Infatuate girl? How often had ye met? 



140 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



Jane. 
Thrice ere to-night. Soul quickly speaks to soul. 

Mr. Buntling. 
O victim to a shrewd adventurer ! 



Leander Briggs. 
Nay, never that, though dry-goods clerk am I, 
Even as thy beauteous child hath lately told. 
No purer passion yet has ruled a life 
Than this which now enthralls, and evermore, 
Till death and life be self-same, shall enthrall 
My individual homage, act and thought. 
O elderly paternal gentleman, 
My father-in-law compulsory, deem not 
That thou hast gold enough in bank or bond 
To richer make my loyalty and love. 
Nay, shouldst thou sternly bid thy child depart, 
Disfranchised of all right to call thee sire, 
Abominated, disinherited, 
Declared exempt and alien equally 
From ties of blood or lucre posthumous, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 

I, not the less, I, plain Leander Briggs, 

A simple clerk of Meares and Company, 

Would hear thy verdict with no vulgar grief 

Like that the baffled fortune-hunter feels, 

But bravely I would seek to mitigate 

The sharp results of thy regretted wrath, 

And treasure, if 'twere possible, with more 

Devout protection her my sireless bride. 

Hear me, O elderly respected one 

(And while I call thee elderly methinks 

The term injustice, with such youthful bloom 

Thy fresh cheek mantles, and thy virile eye 

So sparkles with proud manhood's vivid fire), 

It would not irk if Jane were dispossessed 

Of all prospective share in thy great gains, 

Did I know surely that her valued self 

Were mine through years to guard and to adore. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Thou hast indeed a facile tongue, slim clerk, 
To prate so glibly of my youthful bloom 



142 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



And sparkling eye. Were I a vain man, now, 
Or one who set much heed on lapse of years, 
Desiring to look younger than I am, 
Perchance thy skilful flattery might bestow 
Some sort of tolerance on thy misdeed 
And hers. — But let such empty nonsense pass . 
I am elderly, as thou didst own erewhile, — 
Yet not so marvellous elderly in sooth — 
And as for handsome . . . well, I do claim skin 
Of bloomy tint, eyes not so dull as stones, 
And locks less grizzly than— But pah ! forbear 
To dream that paltry compliments like these 
Can blunt the poignant justice of my rage. 
Thou hast done shamelessly and thievishly. 
Nor thou nor she must look upon my face 
After to-night ; ye are banished, both of you, 
Each deep at fault ; one grossly treacherous, 
And one a prodigy of ingratitude. 



Jane. 
O father, heed thy supplicating Jane ! 



THE BUNT LING BALL. 143 

I would have told thee all three weeks agone, 

When first, in purchasing pink silk, I saw 

And loved unchangeably Leander Briggs, 

Save that a fear of what mamma might learn 

Deterred and hindered my confiding wish. 

For thou wert ever lenient to thy Jane; 

I do remember (ah, so thankfully !) 

How oft thy hand would intercede for me 

Between my shrinking girlish form and that 

Implacable maternal slipper, poised 

To wring the bitter shriek from helpless lips. 

And ever would I bring thee what I loved 

In those dear vanished days Chicagoan — 

A toy, a doll, a book of pictured rhymes, 

A shining apple, rubicund, rotund, 

Seeking thy praises and approving smiles. 

So, now, my cherished father, do I bring 

That which I love in later different hours, 

My true Leander; for I know him true 

As birds know true the first warm hints of Spring, 

As trees know true the mellowing sun-ray's thrill, 



144 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



As violets, hid beneath the vernal mould, 

Know true the south wind's voice that lures their 

blooms. 
He is a clerk at Meares and Company's, 
Monotonously measuring long yards 
Of different stuffs, from tulle to calico, 
From tape to lace. But ah, his manly mind 
Partakes not of these trivial daily tasks. 
O father, hear me out before you close 
Impenetrable doors upon us both. 
Leander, while he measures yard on yard 
Of universal fabric, hoards unseen 
Below the counter where be deftly serves, 
A volume of most intellectual sort, 
No less a volume, O my father dear, 
Than that Proverbial Philosophy 
Of Tupper, which I clearly recollect 
Thyself didst love to read upon the lounge, 
When tea was over, ere thy final doze. 
This book Leander reads at stolen whiles, 
And loves the massive wisdom it contains, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 145 

And strives to shape his conduct to its lore, 
Regarding it as filled with maxims rare, 
And sometimes murmuring o'er its precious lines 
Unconsciously, while heartless customers 
Haggle and barter, and the great store hums, 
And all the worldly babbling mercantile 
Resounds about his pure poetic ears. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Nay, art thou sure that he loves Tupper well ? 

Jane. 

joy to see that smile illume thy face! 

Mr. Buntling. 
Young man, dost thou love Tupper' s golden verse ? 

Leander Briggs. 
Next to my Jane my Tupper do I prize. 

Mr. Buntling. 

1 did not think to pardon thee ; yet now, 



146 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



Regarding thee with closer scrutiny, 

I see thou hast a meditative brow, 

As sicklied o'er by the pale cast of thought 

Which doubtless thou hast found in Tupper's page. 

Well, since thou art the husband of my Jane, 

And since one mutual cult I recognize 

Between thyself and me, thus much I deign 

To pardon, and no more: it is that thou 

Shalt meet me in fair social intercourse 

To-morrow and discuss that lofty bard. 

Till then, thy hand . . . what afterward shall hap 

Is hidden deep in awful scrolls of fate. 

Leander Briggs. 
Oh, thanks, propitiated father-in-law ! 

Mr. Buntling. 
Prove that thou art full worthy ere thou boast. 



Leander Briggs. 
That will I prove ere sinks another sun. 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 147 

Chorus. 
O sombre ending of the Buntling Ball ! 
O ruin of hopes by strong ambition fed ! 
Where shall proud Anastasia hide at all 
The droop of her humiliated head ? 
Surely the ignominy seemed enough 

Her madness to arouse 

When her aggressive spouse 
Came reeling hither, bibulously gruff 
With inarticulate platitudes about her marriage- 
vows. 
Ah, yes, Alonzo, tumbling in unruly 
Among the assembled throng, 
With no more cultivation than a Coolie, 
And with his equilibrium all gone wrong, 
He was a nuisance and an outrage truly, 
And fit for an exterminating thong. 
Rarely in social records, high or low, 
Has any mortal man 
Played worse barbarian 
And made an entrance more malapropos. 



148 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

Rarely has any dame 

Been put to keener shame 

Than hapless Anastasia by the glow 

Of his broad-blown and vinous visage, by 

His alcoholic eye, 

And by the inhospitable impudence, whose flow 

Tingled through every nerve of our punctilio. 

But what, moreover, shall we say of Jane, 

With her preposterous pranks, 

Her reprehensible disdain 

Of proper filial duty, filial thanks ? 

How shall we rate her attitude inane? 

Did lunacy compel it, willy-nilly ? 

Alas ! we think her eminently sane, 

Although superlatively silly. 

Disgraceful is her conduct, thus to trammel 

Maternal efforts that she clearly saw. 

O Jane, you are the last tormenting straw, 

And fit to break the back of any camel ! 

Besides, although of limited capacity, 

As far as appertains to matters mental, 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 149 

You must allow your positive mendacity 

To be deliberate, not accidental. 

Instead of your papa's forgiveness gentle, 

The fiat that shall wholly disinherit 

You very richly merit. 

Instead of his " I-bless-you" style conventional; 

You thoroughly deserve a Harlem flat 

As payment for duplicity intentional. 

A Harlem flat, and rather small at that, 

With complicated smells of frying fat 

And washing-suds ascendant. 

A little peevish kitchen-range that smokes 

Because the chimney just above it chokes, 

And one poor frowzy girl for your attendant. 

Oh, yes, most faulty Jane, 

You should henceforth refrain 

From sealskin sacques and silk resplendent* 

Your future lot should prove 

If this fantastic love 

Would long remain, 

Romantic Jane, 



150 THE BUNTLING BALL. 

In all its charming throes, 

One sweet couleur-de-rose, 

With poverty about your dear neck pendent ! 

You soon would find out whether 

This husband of your choice 

Would pull not somewhat stoutly at his tether 

And lose his dove-like voice 

When served an ill-cooked supper, 

And growl aboui the life you lived together, 

In spite of all fine precepts from his venerated 

Tupper. 

Jane. 

Your random mockeries leave me scathless quite. 

Leander Briggs. 
Disdain them, since thy sire has pardoned us. 

Jane. 
Still could no Harlem flat destroy our love ! 

Leander Briggs. 
Not though its attic roof leaked floods of rain ! 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 151 

Jane. 
Mamma sets gloomful eyes upon us both. 

Leander Briggs. 
The quivering of her lip is leonine. 

Jane. 
I think her silence will end terribly. 

Mr. Buntling. 
Right art thou, Jane. My pardon is not hers. 

Jane. 
Leander, let us kneel, beseeching grace. 

Mrs. Buntling. 
Kneel not ... I did believe, a brief while since, 
That some black nightmare thralled me dreadfully, 
And that I waking would discern the snare 
Thus woven of sleep's fell visionary imps. 
But all such easy credence vanishes, 



152 



THE BUN TUNG BALL. 



And I am left to front the galling fact. 

What, did ye look for wrath ? No wrath have I, 

But only sorrow past the reach of tears. 

That which is done stands irreversible; 

The Jane I deemed my Jane is some weird Jane 

Who being my daughter was a hypocrite, 

A cheat, a fraud, and therefore not my Jane 

At all at any time since girlish years. 

I might have borne calamities like these 

Bravelier, if dealt not by a husband's hand, 

Or daughter's. For the ambition I had nursed 

Was equally to advance myself and them. 

The glory of my accomplishment should fling 

Its light on their two heads as on my own. 

We should have made a trio of leadership, 

And ye that here have witnessed my defeat 

Would have beheld my threefold victory . . . 

But all that roseate dream is melted now ; 

I am betrayed, yet not by outward foes ; 

My household, yea, the nearest of my kin, 

Rise up and slay me ... I had planned for Jane 



THE BUNT LING BALL. 153 

A marriage of such haughty eminence 

That foreign journals gladly from our own 

Would copy all the details of its pomp. 

Who now shall chronicle this vulgar flight, 

These recreant spousals, but with jest and scoff? 

The Buntling Ball, O thou perfidious child, 

Hath turned thy marriage feast. Go, dn.nk and eat 

With him thy father's easy pardon joys. 

Nor viand nor foaming vintage is for me, 

But sorrowing solitude through many days — 

Perchance remorse, repentance .• . . who shall say ? 

For I have wrongfully adored the power 

Of wealth and sought to use it as a stair 

Whereby ambition's feet might scale renown. 

But peradventure comfort still remains 

My suffering spirit through the exercise 

Of noble and unstinted charities 

Hereafter, whose consolatory balm, 

While healing other wounds, may heal mine own. 

Chorus. 
Lady, we pity thy supreme distress, 



i54 



THE BUNTLING BALL. 



While solemnly departing, each and all ; 
Yea, while departing wholly supperless, 
Amazed that such disturbance should befall. 
( f\ Yet deeds once done eternally are 

\ 4=| done ; 

The Fates are three, and purblind 

man is one. 
O dire events the Fates alone 

could guess! 
O sombre ending of the Buntling 
Ball! 





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THE ONLY STANDARD BOOK OF QUOTATIONS. 

Invaluable to the Statesman, Lawyer Editor, Public Speaker, 
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be a help and a pleasure to m-my." 

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HENR Y W. LONGFELLO IV. " Can hardly fail to be a very 
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Royal octavo, over 900 pp, Cloth, $5.00; Sheep, $6. 50: Fancy 
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gfoje ^tatjcTartT %ib vary— 1884. 



The Standard Library for 1884 contains none but absolutely new 
•works, and many of them by the ablest American writers of 
fiction. The series contains 26 volumes, i2mo, printed on good 
paper, in clear large type, and bound in paper covers with 
artistic designs, and in cloth, on extra heavy paper, with back 
and side gold siamp, in variously colored bindings. 

Prices : Paper, 15 and 25 cents per volume; cloth, 75 cents ar.d 
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106. Story of the Merv. Epitomized from " The Merv 
Oasis" by the author, Edmund O'Donovan. Faper, 
25Cts.; cloth $1 00 

107. Mumu, and The Diary of a Superfluous Man. 

Two Noveis. Bv Ivan Turgenieff. Translated from 

the Russian. One volume. Paper, 15 cts.; cloth 75 

108. Memorie and Rime. Stories, Poems and Sketches. 
Also "Leaves trom my Journal." By Joaquin Miller. 
Paper, 25c; cloth 1 00 

109. Christianity Triumphant. By John P. Newman, 
D.D. A most graphic and eloquent account of the vic- 
tories achieved by Christianity. Paper, 15 cts.; clcth, 75 

110. The Bowsham Puzzle. A new Novel. By John 
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cts.; cloth 1C0 

111. My Musical Memories. A volume of reminiscences. 

By H. R. Haweib, A.M. Paper, 25 cts.; cloth 1C0 

112. Archibald Malmaison. A Novel. By Julian Haw- 
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113. In the Heart of Africa. Travels of Sir Samuel 
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114. The Clew of the Maze ; or, Modern Infidelity and 
How to Meet it. 1 ogcther with a series of non-religious 
papers, "The Spare Half-Hour." By Rev. C. H. Spur- 
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115. The Fortunes of Pachel. A Novel. By Edward 
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THE STANDARD LIBRARY— 1884.— Continued. 

116. Chinese Gordon. A Succinct Record of his Life. 

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117. Wit, Wisdom and Phi'osophy. By Jean Paul 
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118. Himself Again. A Novel. By J. C. Goldsmith. 
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119. The Home in Poetry. A collection of English and 
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120. Number One. and How to Take Care of Him. 

A series of familiar ta'ks on Dress, Diet, and Social and 
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121. Rutherford. A Novel. By Edgar Fawcett. Paper, 

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122. Ten Yesrs a Police Court Judge. By Judge Wig- 
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123. '49— The Gold Seeker of the Sierras. By Joaquin 
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124. A Yankee School Teacher in Virginia. By Lydia 
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125. Life of Wycliffe. By John Laird Wilson. Paper, 

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126. An Old Sailor's Yarns. By Capt. Roland Coffin. 
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127. Out of Egvot. Bible Readings on the Book of Exo- 
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128. True. A Novel. By George Parsons Lathrop. Paper, 

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129. Prince Saroni's Wife, and The Pearl-shell Neck- 
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130. Christmas in Narragansett. By Edward Everett 
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131. Edwin Arnold as Poetizer and as Paganizer ; or, 
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